Fornier had seemed particularly curious if more accurate descriptions around the time of the murder might be gained beyond the sketchy and fractured details on the tape. Marinella explained that — as Fornier had no doubt gauged from the reaction on the tape — it was an area which obviously disturbed Christian the most and had therefore been almost totally blotted out. 'As a result it would probably be one of the hardest areas in which to gain more information. Why?'
Fornier brushed it aside with an offhand, 'Nothing in particular.' But his tone and the way he'd been hanging on her answer made Marinella wonder. They discussed briefly some of the general circumstances surrounding the murder: sexual assault before the final attack; blunt instrument, probably a rock; wheat field by a river; coma for five days.
Wheat field?
Lambourne held the view that the coma and even the brief fifty-four second period of death had fired the connection between the two boys. Why Eyran had no previous recall of Gigio-Christian until after then. 'It was a major physical event that linked both lives. Object loss opened the door, was a shared emotional experience, but the coma was the shared physical experience to swing it wide.'
Marinella agreed, but felt that subliminally the link had been there long before. 'Eyran had a sense of deja vu with the wheat field when they first moved to the house in England. He didn't dream of those fields purely due to fond memories of England or that he truly feels he might find his parents there — but because of Christian. Eyran knows deep down he's lost his parents on a Californian highway — whether he accepts it or not — but the wheat field is clearly Christian Rosselot territory. It's Christian who can't accept separation from his parents. Eyran's merely aboard for the ride.'
Lambourne shook his head. He disagreed. Their respective views started to head in different directions. Lambourne threw at her the obvious that Christian's parents hadn't featured in any of the dreams, Eyran's had, and that both boys focused only on finding Eyran's parents. Wheareas she felt this theory supported that of the two boys battling with non-acceptance of loss, Christian's was the strongest. In his case, it had been pushed further away. Eyran's had been tackled head-on in practically every dream.
But with Lambourne's reluctance to accept her view, at one point she'd blurted out: 'What's wrong? Are you afraid that by accepting the theory, it pushes it further away from what you know best — conventional analysis.' And immediately regretted it, saw clearly that she'd hit a raw nerve. It threw too stark a spotlight on what they both knew: as soon as Gigio had been identified as Christian Rosselot, a tangible past existence rather than a protective figment of Eyran's psyche — most of Lambourne's conventional theories went out of the window. This was her territory. Past Life Regression versus Freud. The irreconcilable divide between psychiatrists and parapsychologists. Psychiatrists branding them hardly better than tribal witchdoctors, and para-psychologists retaliating by labelling psychiatrists as 'too conventional and myopic'. Far too many of hers and Donaldsons critics through the years had been 'conventionalists' — but it was unfair to start taking it out now purely on Lambourne. She softened quickly with: 'Are you afraid that if I'm right, I might be camping out in your office a bit longer?'
Lambourne raised his glass and smiled. 'Now that, as you know, I would never complain about.'
Perhaps it was her. She was drawing the lines of divide too simplistically: she dealt with the past, Lambourne with the present. Each of them sought the explanation where their knowledge was strongest. But Lambourne's smile and comment brought uncomfortably close what she'd feared at the outset: that their views were poles apart and Lambourne had only picked up the phone because he was suddenly out of his depth and it was a good excuse to see her again. He liked her company. But as soon as that novelty wore off, the differences would start to show again. It hadn't taken long, she thought: eight days.
But she was glad nevertheless that he'd called. She could be only three questions away from compiling one of the strongest case studies and papers of her career. For that, David Lambourne could smile and ingratiate her as much as he pleased.
She brought her attention back to the session as David Lambourne's voice trailed off and he nodded towards her. Philippe leaned forward and she tapped out the first question on the PC screen.
Dominic wasn't sure of the precise moment when the thought first struck him of being able to use information from the tapes to re-examine the details surrounding Christian Rosselot's murder. The first initial thoughts — shortly after the first call from Marinella Calvan — had been so fleeting and indistinct, he'd hardly paid it attention. Possibly a hoax; obscure or unsubstantiated information — discarded after the second hurdle, with still the hurdles of insufficient detail to support a renewed investigation and legal complexities in the far distance and only paid scant consideration. That consideration only arrived full force after seeing Monique's reaction to the tape.
But after his last conversation with Marinella Calvan, those hurdles appeared suddenly to have been raised and were now almost insurmountable: 'Due to it being an area which has obviously disturbed Christian the most, the murder has been largely blotted out.' Details would be difficult to gain.
He'd replayed those segments of tape the most: '… And then there was a bright light… so bright… I couldn't see anything. And the field… I recognized it…' What could have caused a sudden, blinding light? It was a bright, sunny day. Perhaps Christian had been heavily concealed in bushes down the river bank, then had suddenly emerged into the brightness of the lane and the wheat field? Or perhaps he'd been blindfolded as well as tied up and it had suddenly been taken off.
There had also been an earlier reference to the light 'hurting his eyes' not long before he was face down on the ground. '… the sheaves were against the side of my face… my own breathing against it. All I could hear… nothing else… nothing…' The voice trailed off as breathing became heavier, more sporadic. '…I struggled to look back, but couldn't… couldn't… I… I.' After that the voice became increasingly catatonic and garbled. Philippe's voice broke him quickly away. It wasn't even clear if Christian had fallen in the wheat or been pushed over, whether he'd already been struck or the blows were still to come.
Calvan was right. Recall of the murder had been heavily erased. Dominic couldn't see how pressing on subsequent sessions would reveal anything more than the same garbled, disjointed account. Someone with passing knowledge of the case, primed by a handful of newspaper articles, could have constructed a more detailed account. Even the few details that were fresh — such as the sudden light — were vague and could be interpreted any number of ways. A re-examination of the case based on fresh information wasn't even a remote possibility. And from a boy dead these past thirty years, his voice speaking from the grave through another boy who had entered therapy because he was psychologically disturbed? The first prosecutor he took it to would laugh him clean out of the room.
But the intense curiosity to know still nagged at him, so in the end he removed that final hurdle: blotted out consideration of a renewed official investigation. Convinced himself that he was eager to know for his own sake; for the curiosity of an old police officer who wants to know the truth before he retires. A final closing of the book. And for Machanaud, or at least for-
Philippe's voice broke abruptly into his thoughts. ‘C’est l’ete. C’est le mois de mai. The year is nineteen sixty-one. You are eight years old. You worked with your father Jean-Luc towards the end of that month. What did you help him with?'